He’d stashed me in one of the media rooms the team uses for watching game footage when I got a call from Aaron and the next thing I knew, I was a blubbering mess, hyperventilating and having what I can only assume was a panic attack. My ears were ringing and I could hardly breathe.
But then Deacon showed up and threw a bunch of chocolate at me to make me feel better. It was weird. He has no real reason to look out for me. But it was also sweet. And in the moment, it was what I needed.
Deacon didn’t ask questions. He didn’t pry. He was just… there. No expectations. No demands. He kept me company until Dominique came to collect me and did what he could to help.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
Narrowing my eyes, I glower at him. “Fuck no.”
Deacon exhales a harsh breath of relief. “Thank fuck.” He runs a hand over his face. “I was worried there for a second.”
“You were worried?” I raise a brow and sniff, some of the weight lifting from my chest.
He smirks. “Obviously. I mean, I’m here if you need to talk, but I’m gonna be real with you. I suck at the emotional shit. Especially with girls. When chicks get sad and then cry,” he shivers dramatically, “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that is for a dude?”
I snort. “Way to be all empathetic and shit.”
“No really. What are we supposed to do?” he asks. “We can’t fix it, right? Whatever it is that—“
“My mom died,” I blurt out for the second time today.
“Fuck.”
“Yup.”
Deacon doesn’t miss a beat. “See what I mean? What is a guy supposed to do with that?”
“Nothing I guess.” I shrug.
“And that is why talking about feelings fucking sucks. Nothing gets fixed.”
A smile curls the corners of my mouth. “I’ve been saying the same thing to my friends, but they won’t drop it and leave me alone. Everyone wants me to talk about what I’m going through.” I worry my bottom lip. Why won’t they accept I don’t need to talk about it? I just need to figure out a way to move on.
Deacon’s expression screws into a look of horror. “That right there is some bullshit,” he tells me. “Your mom died. You handle that however you need to, and ifnottalking about it is the way to go, then that’s the path you take. No one else gets to decide how you need to cope with your shit.” He shakes his head. “Idiots. All of them.”
I laugh. It’s small and unexpected, but also makes the tight feeling in my chest loosen a little bit more.
“Thank you,” I tell him, meaning it.
“Anytime. I’m here for you.” He winks. “But we’ll leave the emotional chit chat to the pros. Or—“ his smile widens, “we come up with fun shit to do to distract you and maybe stir up a little trouble along the way.”
My brows lift. “What did you have in mind?” Because I am one hundred percent on board for distractions.
“You’ll see. But first, let's go find you some chocolate.”
FOUR
KASEY
“What is this called again?” I ask, eyeing the black box with the white ball mounted in the middle of it. He’s plugged it into a projector that we’ve propped up with a stack of our books and is currently looking for a power source to plug it into.
“Golden Tee,” Deacon says, scanning the wall at our backs before meeting my gaze. “Pretty epic, right?”
I humor him with a smile, what feels like my first genuine one in ages, before rolling my eyes at him with a small laugh. “Yep. The best thing since sliced bread,” I say, giving his setup a curious side eye. I’ve never heard of this game before, but he’s been bouncing like a kid in a candy store ever since I agreed to play. He mentioned something about it being a bar game, but since we’re both underage and can’t very well walk into one of the local bars to play, I guess having a version of your own is the next best thing.
After leaving Fisks' class, I blindly agreed to play this game on the promise that it was fun and that Deacon would swipe a six-pack for us to share while we played because while he might be underage, most of his fraternity is not.
With booze on the table, saying yes was a no-brainer. We swung by the Alpha Ze frat house to grab this weird gaming console, a portable projector, and a white sheet along with the six-pack of Blue Moon, and away we went. Not going to lie, I’m not a fan of beer. Blue Moon is better than the kind my brother drinks. There’s a slight orange flavor to it. But it’s still beer. Not that that stops me from drinking it. I’m here for distractions, after all.
